Road Rules Online

Chapter 33

Sharon found herself rapidly picking up cops and rapidly running out of road.  Traffic thinned out here, a dirt road up ahead.  If she went in, she’d be trapped.

Judging by the sirens, so would her pursuers.  She gunned the engine and entered some sort of park.  The Dodge held fast, closing the distance once more.  She looked up at the sign over the entrance.

“Bonaventure Cemetery?” she said out loud.  “Oh, shit!”

***

“Ram her bumper,” said Franco.  “Try to force her off the access road.”

“Jules, we got every damn cop in Georgia behind us,” said Felix.  “Give it up.”

Franco’s eyes went wide and his face blotched red.  He jammed the gun under Felix’s ear.  “Do it.”

“Dude, you shoot me, we both die.”

Franco pressed harder.

“Well, it’s a cemetery.  We won’t have far to go.” (continue reading…)

Chapter 32

“911,” said the operator.  “What is your emergency?”

“I need the Savannah Police right now,” Sharon shouted into Mike’s cell phone.

“Where?”

“Savannah.  Georgia.”

“Ma’am, this is the Cuyahoga County dispatch in Cleveland, Ohio.  Who are you trying to call?”

(continue reading…)

Mike didn’t realize how close he and Sharon had been cutting it until he saw the green Dodge Ram barrel up the street.  He had started to close the tailgate when the truck screached to a halt behind him.  Just then he saw that the crate was exposed.

A short, stocky guy jumped out the driver’s side as another man popped out the passenger window and aimed a gun at him.

“Move away from that truck,” the other guy said.  “Now!”

Mike shoved the tailgate closed and dove behind the Tahoe.  “Sharon!  Go!”

The engine rolled over once, and the Tahoe burned rubber taking off into traffic.

The guy in the Ram fired twice, hitting only concrete and a pigeon.  The Ram took off.

Across the street at WSVN, two uniformed cops appeared.  Mike waved to them.  “Green Ram chasing a red Tahoe!  They’re after the Chest!”

One of the cops dashed across the street, halting traffic as he did so.  The other one ran back into the WSVN lot.

Moments later, three cruisers and the two fed cars appeared, tires squealing as they turned onto the street and went after the Chest.

Mike looked up at the uniform standing over him.  He reached up with his hand.  “I think you’re looking for me.  I’m Myron Blake.”

They made their fourth pass around the block when Franco spotted it.  “There.”  He pointed.

“The Tahoe?” asked Felix.

“I saw a black woman in that truck before,” said Franco.  “Now there’s a…  That’s Blake!  Pull over.”  He jacked a round in the chamber.

“We’ll bring them in here,” said the reporter, the bottled blonde who’d been covering the story all day.  “They’ll back their SUV in and offload it.  Eminence, if you could say a few words when that happens…”

“Oh, believe me, I’ve thought long and hard about that,” said Bishop Hewson.

The reporter looked at Estevez.  “Were you or Agent Kennedy planning on making any arrests?”

“No comment,” said Estevez.

The reporter’s face flushed red as she pressed her lips thin.  “We have less than ten minutes.”

Chapter 31

Sharon waited in the Tahoe for Mike.  When he returned from The Newcastle, she said, “Three Savannah cruisers, two from the sheriff, two of those ‘anonymous’ government cars, and a limo I can only assume is the bishop’s.”

He looked at his watch.  “Fifteen minutes.”  He checked the rearview.  “Here comes our help.”

The manager of The Newcastle came up behind the truck along with another employee, probably a waiter.  The waiter carried what looked like a tablecloth.

“What are you doing?” said Sharon.

“Taking precautions.”

She smiled at him.  “You’re smarter than you look, Blake.”

He winked at her.  “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m faking it.”

“Let’s get this thing in place.”

Agent Scalzi drove Kennedy, Estevez, and Jordan out to the WSVN studios.  In the sheriff’s cruiser behind them sat Mason and Luis Contreras.  Even through the tinted windows of Scalzi’s government-issue Ford, Estevez could turn around and see Mason squirm in the back of the cruiser.  Luis sat there like a statue, never moving.

They rolled into the parking lot and came to a stop where the station had cleared an area.  Three remote cameras with lights had been set up, ringing the space.

Kennedy got out of the car and waited for the deputies to escort the cuffed Contreras and Mason over to them.  She pointed at Mason.  “You.  Keep your mouth shut until spoken to.  Got it?  You’re going to make sure it’s Myron Blake getting out of that car.”  To Luis, she said, “You’re going to tell your story to me, to Lieutenant Estevez, and to the Bishop Hewson himself.  And it’d better be a riveting tale.” (continue reading…)

Sharon and Mike drove around Savannah, taking in the sights.  Never once did they leave the truck.  She looked over at Mike, who had started to doze.  He had surprised her.  This guy had all the excitement and romance of a tax auditor.

And she liked that.  Or maybe she liked that, when he got mad, he could trot out his backbone.  Or that he was a gentlemen this morning, apologizing for taking advantage of her drunken state.  Truth be told, she thought it was the other way around.

“What do you want to do when this is over?” she asked him.

Mike blew out his breath.  “Like I said before, go to Miami and start over.  Now, though, I’m thinking of taking my share of the reward and becoming a beach bum in the Bahamas.”

She smiled at that.  “Want some company?”

He did a double take.

“I’m just asking.  We don’t like it, we’ll each have enough money to walk away.”  She winked.  “Besides, I’d like to know what last night would have been like sober.”

“Our clothes would have stayed on,” he said.

“Maybe.”  She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.  “But you know you been wantin’ a little taste of Cinnamon since you met me,” she said in her sweet little drawl.

Mike laughed.  “I wasn’t that blatant about it, was I?”

“You were a gentleman, Mike.  That’s why I’m even considering this.”

He looked at his watch.  “It’s almost two now.  We’ve got half an hour.”

She turned the truck down one side street, then another, until they came up on the WSVN studios.  “You know whoever tried to buy this thing is still out there.”

“Maybe,” said Mike.

“We should take precautions.”

“We should.”  He spotted a restaurant with an ATM outside.  “Pull over there.”

“Why?”

“So I can take some precautions.”

She did as he asked and watched him run into the restaurant.

“No, no, Paul,” said Gallagher, sitting at his desk.  “That’s quite all right.  If there are cameras on, it’s unlikely anything bad will happen.”  He glanced down at the other line flashing as he talked.  “Go ahead, take the Chest.  We’ll make arrangements ourselves to have it shipped back.”

“I have to tell you, Daniel,” said Hewson, “we’re not used to these things down here.  We’re a quiet little tourist town. Since dawn, this place has become Atlanta, what with the car jumping the bridge and the Chest and that raid this morning.”

“I understand, Paul.  Really.  And how often does a valuable relic of the Church go missing in the Midwest?  One of the reasons I agreed to take this position was the peace and quiet.”  Like a dying industrial town could hope to be peaceful. Cleveland refused to go quietly into the night like several other cities in the region.  “Can I put you on hold for a second?  Thanks.”  He punched the button.  “Miguel.”

“Sir?” said Miguel.

“Go to this television station.  Bishop Hewson will be there to accept the Chest.  Do not do anything unless something goes wrong.  Got it?”

“Comprendo.  And Luis?  He is still in custody.”

“We’ll deal with Luis when this is over.”  He switched lines.  “Paul, gotta go.  I’ve got a man down there who will be watching all this.  Everything’s covered.”

“That’s what you told the Archbishop of Gdansk.”

Gallagher hung up.  “Senile prick.”

Chapter 30

Franco swam to the shore with his shirt off, his head killing him.  He saw no sign of Zilberberg or Loman.  He also saw no sign of Yarazelski.

Shooting Gerry had been a mistake.  He’d panicked and tried to make it look like Gerry shot the cop.  It might have worked if Yarazelski hadn’t tried to run.  It might have worked if Loman hadn’t put Yarazelski behind the wheel.  The little Polack had been right.  He had nothing to lose, and Franco had everything.  He had to move fast if he didn’t want that prophecy to come true.

Once Franco had come ashore, he dropped to his knees and thanked the Virgin for saving him once again.  Then he began sobbing.

“Give me my saint,” said Franco, “or find me another one.”

A woman walked by and saw Franco on his knees.  “Are you all right?”

At first he wanted to tell her to fuck off, that he didn’t need her help.  Then he saw the Westin rising behind the old section of the Tallmadge Bridge.  “Do you have a cell phone?”

She reached in her purse and handed it to him.  “I’m on roaming, but this is an emergency.  Do you need to see a doctor?”

He ignored her and dialed 411.  “Savannah, Georgia…  The Westin Hotel on Hutchinson Island…  I’ll hold.”  And he did.  When the Westin’s operator came on, he gave his room number.  They transferred him one last time.  “Felix…  You heard?  I’m up the road from the hotel…  No, the Polack and Zilberberg are gone…  Loman, too…  And Gerry…  No, Gerry was shot by a cop…”

The woman’s eyes widened.

Franco winked at her and said, “Long day.”  He waited for Felix to finish talking.  “What?  When?”  He waited as Felix relayed the news about Blake giving the Chest to a television station.  “Okay, come pick me up.  Get me some dry clothes, and we’ll go to the television station.  And Felix?  Send Linda back to the airport and have the plane warmed up.  We’re going to have to get out of this town fast.”

He handed the woman back her phone.  “Friends don’t let friends drive drunk.”  He hobbled up the path to the roadside and sat down at a bus stop.